<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Maybe by MakaylaJade</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28566579">Maybe</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MakaylaJade/pseuds/MakaylaJade'>MakaylaJade</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Criminal Minds (US TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ambiguous Writing, Angst, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Pining, Unrequited Love</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 03:41:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>737</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28566579</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MakaylaJade/pseuds/MakaylaJade</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Have you ever considered us?” He asked one night, sprawled on his back in a bed that was not his own, his alabaster skin contrasting against the black sheets. His partner turned to him, an amused expression on his face, disbelief in his dark eyes. He should have known.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Maybe</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is absolutely terrible, but I was suffering from some pretty severe sad boy hours and needed an outlet.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Have you ever considered us?” He asked one night, sprawled on his back in a bed that was not his own, his alabaster skin contrasting against the black sheets. His partner turned to him, an amused expression on his face, disbelief in his dark eyes. He should have known.</p><p> </p><p>“The only thing I considered was going for another round,” his nameless companion said in response, and maybe he broke a little, but he wasn’t for sure, and he had never been so uncertain of anything in all his life. These nights of senseless sex and intoxication simply could not continue, else he would only lose more of himself along the way.</p><p> </p><p>“Ah,” he had said, mindless in the way his bedmate kissed along his shoulder and up the expanse of his neck. He should be used to this by now, the feeling of only being wanted by another human being when it was convenient for them and then being abandoned as soon as they realized he couldn’t live up to their expectations. How to change this was a mystery, because it had been like that all his life, and strangely enough, he didn’t know if he wanted to change it. At least now, he was wanted <em>occasionally</em>. “I think I can do that.”</p><p> </p><p>And while it often felt normal to spend a night with a familiar stranger, who only wanted the same thing as before, it was eating him up inside, tearing the flesh from bone until he was a walking corpse of his former self. His muscles atrophied from the crippling pressure of being valuable to someone.</p><p> </p><p>He was in love with a man who would never consider him as anything more than a friend, companion, colleague, coworker. They were doomed from the start, and maybe he should have kept his heart in check and avoided feeling those emotions that had devastated his entire life. Love was not for him, familial or otherwise. It would always leave, eventually, because as he watched his mother fade over the years, he knew that her love for him was fading too. She hardly ever recognized him anymore, and to see a look of confusion on his mother’s face when she was confronted with her own son was enough to break him maybe.</p><p> </p><p>“Does it feel good?” His partner asked from somewhere above him, and he responded positively, just to keep the sensations going. It didn't feel good, in fact, because he felt nothing at all, but the numbness was the greatest feeling in the entire world. In this little fantasy he had created, he was happy and content with his life and there was nothing he would change. He was in love, and the love was returned by the very object of his desire.</p><p> </p><p>So instead of a nameless partner, his companion had an identity that was ever so carefully crafted by a calamitous universe. He didn’t believe in fate, but he was certain that his beloved was created with every ounce of perfection ever imagined, and nothing could change his mind on the matter. He was a broken man in love with a perfect one, and the odds of anything ever coming from that were so microscopically small that he went ahead and considered it null.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you close?” Was asked, and he forced himself to give the response his partner wanted from him, like he was expecting from him. The emptiness inside was swallowing him whole, and he was for certain that by the end of this, there wouldn’t be any of him left. The sense of wetness built in his eyes and he was crying before he realized it. His nameless companion must have assumed it was his doing, and he just muttered something that was neither fulfilling or worthwhile.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll see you tomorrow, Pretty Boy,” his beloved said in his departure.</p><p> </p><p>He was left alone eventually, reminded of how good of a partner he was, and he wondered if he would be left feeling like this always. His heart lurched in his chest at the very thought of him loving him in return, and while he wished so badly to be good enough, it was a hopeless lament.</p><p> </p><p>So he cried, clutching the black sheets around him as a replacement for his beloved’s arms which would never hold his body in a true embrace. And when faced with that realization, he maybe broke to pieces.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Follow me on Tumblr - @makaylajadewrites</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>